Packages Wrapped Up So Sweet And Pretty
by TorchwoodFallenAngel
Summary: Stiles is Little Red. He's Stella. He's a pretty new package with pretty red ribbons all waiting to be unwrapped. Sorta Sterek and cross-dressing. And the Drag Queens.


**This was a little thing that came out of this idea; what if Stiles started doing drag shows? And then; I bet the drag queens chose Little Red Rididng Hood as a laugh and they don't know why Stiles collapsed in heaps of laughter and didn't stop crying until his mascara was flooding down his cheeks along with his tears.**

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Stiles breaths out slowly, fingers nervously slip-sliding through red silk as long gold nails rake through the long brown wig on his head, scraping over his scalp in a vaguely reassuring manner and grip his chin, tilting his head towards the light. He flutters his eyelashes just to feel the weight of the mascara and the soft tickle of his eyelashes hitting his cheek and Fifi coos, tracing his cheekbones. "You are gonna be perfect! Now get your little stockinged tush out there and show everyone what you've got!"

He squirms, pretending to not enjoy the feel of lace between his legs – Ginger had thrust them at him with a cheer of "Accuracy is everything" then started cackling – and fiddles with the petticoat, hangnail catching on the frill. He's the prettiest Little Red ever with waves of dark brown hair and wide innocent eyes and big red lips and long pale legs and slim corseted waist all designed to draw in a wolf. He's a honey trap with the sweetest honey, a perfect little parcel all wrapped up and ready to be torn open (and into).

A strong arm slips round his waist and he jumps, hot breath fanning over his bare shoulders and making the air around him muggy. "Well hello there Little Red. Aren't we looking good today? All tasty and sweet." It's his Wolf. Not His wolf. But his Wolf to his Little Red. He wriggles and wiggles, feeling flirty and flighty and all brand-new in his pretty red wrapping, biting his lip when his Wolf laughs in his ear, deep and smooth, like black treacle or hot tar.

He likes this wrapping, this disguise. Here he's not Stiles, he's Stella. He's Little Red, flighty and sweet and innocent, all new and fresh, unmarked and untouched. Here he can be anything he wants, talk without being seen. He tucks a lock of hair behind his ear and ducks his head, a small smile curling his lips when his Wolf leans down and breaths in his ear, all low and predatory "Don't be shy Little Red, it's not a crime to talk to a pretty girl is it? You see, I saw you standing here all alone-" His Wolf ignores Fifi slapping at his arm "And got very worried. Girls as pretty as you shouldn't be all alone in places like this."

Stiles takes this as his cue and breaks away from his Wolf's grip, tripping out on to the stage, Li'L Red Riding Hood by Sam Sham playing as he does so. He loves this song; it makes him feel slinky and shiny, all put on display. What can he say; he likes being chased by wolves. His Wolf starts crooning from the wings, all slinking hunger and wide, red jaws. He responds the way a Little Red should; a blush and a bite of the lip, twirl of the heel and curve of the leg. He moves backwards and his Wolf moves forwards, they circle each other in a carnal dance, predator and prey, hunter and hunted, the hunted dancing for his life, the hunter waiting for the dance to end.

Little Red halts and the Wolf strikes, trying to pull Little Red in by the hem of her cloak to catcalls and whistles. She twirls away, giggling bright and airy. She feels like a butterfly. If she is a butterfly then he is the pin, strong and solid, holding down her wings so she can't fly away. She veers wildly, topples slightly and the Wolf grabs Red, pulling her close and holding her tight.

He falls to his knees and howls to the stars – paper cut-outs may they be but they glitter in the stage lights – howls to his Red, howls his lust and want so loud that Little Red has to curl over him, petting dark hair and dark ears, crooning to the beast to calm it. He paws at her, desperate and animal, and she laughs, grabbing his paws and fondling the dark fur. He nuzzles at the inside of her knee, then her thigh and then just beneath her groin and she throws her head back, revelling in the feel of wolf fur against lace.

She tips her head up, stares out at the crowd and freezes. From the back of the room a pair of red eyes, full of fire and lust are burning bright, watching her. And Little Red is gone and so is Stella and all that is left is Stiles, stripped bare of all his pretty wrapping and finery, of all his masks and disguises. He's a butterfly pinned.


End file.
